


The Shard

by Autumn_Llleaves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, Sad Ending, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autumn_Llleaves/pseuds/Autumn_Llleaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Game of Thrones sweeps like a tide, leaving shards of those not strong enough to be players or even pawns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shard

She was only a poor serving girl. Of course, her mother spoke of her being worth a whole golden dragon, but Rosey knew it was just for once. She would no longer be a maiden – and then she would be worth nothing more than a few coppers. If anything at all.

To be honest, Rosey didn't care as long as Pate was by her side. Pate, the novice at the Citadel. The Citadel itself! The maesters said he wasn't bright, but Rosey knew full well that her darling will soon manage to learn all that's necessary. And even if he didn't… Why, she didn't care. As long as he came to her, told her stories and looked at her with these eager kindly eyes of his, she wanted to be his little woman – and it mattered not whether he had any links in his maester's chain!

The only drawback between them and eternal happiness was that golden dragon. Mother wouldn't allow it any other way. And how could Pate, her dear poor Pate, have a golden coin if these strict maesters didn't allow him to do the work he wished to do?

"No, Rosey, I won't listen to another word!" Mother snapped for the hundredth time on that fateful evening. "Pate's a good boy, but you were made for the best. Go do some dusting."

The girl cried rarely, but that time she couldn't control herself and wept bitterly – the inn seemed empty, and she didn't bother to hide her tears.

"What's the matter, my dear?" a soft voice asked from the corner. Rosey almost jumped up. The customer was a slender dark man with a hooked nose and a disarming smile.

"Nothing, m'lord," she murmured.

"Now, now, mayhaps I can be of help. Do you know what I'm called?"

Rosey shook her head.

"The Alchemist. And you know what it means? It's a name for a man who can turn iron into gold."

He gracefully leaned against the windowsill. Rosey, amazed, felt a spark of hope.

"Aye, m'lord – if you were so kind…" and all of a sudden she spilled all her story to him. About herself and Pate and the golden dragon.

"The young man of yours," the Alchemist said, "I shall speak with him. If he could help me with a certain trifle… then I will reward him, and he will come to you, dear, before this moon fades."

"Oh thank you! Thank you, m'lord! Thank you so much!" half-mad with joy, Rosey scrubbed the floor with a rare vigor. When she turned her head, the Alchemist was already gone.

***

It was true. It happened. Pate arrived at the inn in a few days, proudly handing over the dragon.

"So the Alchemist didn't lie!" Rosey exclaimed. "Oh, some lords like him are indeed so kind! If I knew how to write, I'd send him a letter of thanks."

All her dreams have come alive. She was the happiest maiden… the happiest woman in all the Seven Kingdoms. The Princess couldn't be as happy as Rosey the serving girl. Pate seemed even more wonderful than before, more like a man and with more sweet words for her and full with more stories than she thought one could know.

"I love you, Pate, you know," she confessed on the morrow and moved her hand to run through his sandy hair. He gently drew it away and looked sorrowful somehow.

"I'm sorry, Rosey – but I have to go to the Citadel now."

"And you'll be the cleverest of them all," she looked at him adoringly. "My Archmaester Pate!"

He didn't even wait to break his fast with her and Mother but hastened to leave. She waited for him gladly. She knew he was a very busy one.

***

He never came again. Two moons changed, and Pate was never seen at the inn.

"I knew he was like this," Mother said sourly. "He wanted nothing save for your flower."

Rosey, though, refused to believe. She walked around the Citadel for hours, neglecting all her work. She wanted at least to see Pate – she knew he still loved her, he wouldn't abandon her in this way, would he?

Her patience was rewarded – she finally saw him leaving the Citadel, dressed in rather fine clothes, on horseback.

"Pate!" she flung herself at his feet. "My darling! Must you go far?"

He looked at her with pity. Then looked around – there was no one else nearby.

"You haven't done anything…" he whispered thoughtfully. "But I am sorry to tell you, Rosey – Pate is dead."

"What?!" the girl fell back on the ground. He… whatever did he mean? He didn't look a gho…

Rosey watched, unable to move or speak, as Pate – the man – waved his hand in front of his face in a way, and the face morphed. It was now completely different – one of a fifty-odd-year-old maester, with a long heavy chain.

"The Game of Thrones is a harsh wave, my dear," he stepped down and caressed her hair softly. "One cannot be completely without pity. Especially for you – the shards, the weakest ones."

"Sh-shards?.." she stammered.

"The players keep themselves alive by playing. The shadows like us assist them. Or ourselves. The pawns are kept alive by being useful. Such are the rules, but the shards are those who are simply trampled upon."

"When did Pate die?" Rosey asked. She barely understood a word of this stranger's explanation.

"After he helped the Alchemist," the man got back onto his horse.

"You – you, not him! – took my maidenhead!" she felt as if the world was falling apart. "Who a-are you, stranger?"

"The answer is in your question. A servant of Stranger, as you call him," he answered. "Farewell, Rosey."

Pate was dead. Pate was dead. Pate was dead. He will never laugh with her again. Never kiss her. Pate was dead. And she was tricked into betraying his memory.

"Wait," she called, hardly noticing tears running down her face. "I want to join him. I w-want to die."

He didn't seem to hear and rode on.

***

Samwell Tarly watched as a single silent sister dressed a body for burial. A poor foolish servant girl from a nearby inn, abandoned by her lover. Threw herself into the river, they said.

Her disconsolate mother said that the guilty one was Pate, the pale novice Samwell had misliked.

Unfortunately, Pate had left – he was through with the Citadel, unable to forge even a single link.

The poor silly thing wouldn't even get a proper burial. Practically all silent sisters were busy preparing another one for burial – a maester who passed away quite suddenly after a heart attack.


End file.
